amaryllis
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So. I had a little story a couple of week backs where, just past the four week mark, I had moments of nausea while waiting to see a drag act at a club. One lady wondered how I could possibly be feeling nausea so early in my pregnancy. Seems that it was just the precursor, the warning, the distant chiming of bells that said, "Winter is coming. And by winter I mean constant, unattractive dry-retching and feeling like your stomach has some kind of personality disorder."
If my stomach were capable of dialogue this week, it would be something like this:
"I'm HUNGRY! Eat something! NO, NOT THAT! Definitely NOT that! No meat, that's gross! No, no that, it's too dry! Ew, not that, it's too cheesy! Fruit? Are you nuts, it tastes all FRUITY!
White rice with a dribble of soy sauce? PERFECT! EAT! EAT EAT EAT EAT--STOP!
Oh LORDY STOP!!! No more food! I'm hungry as HELL but no more food!
Oh - a cold breeze! Gonna HURL! Oh no, I'm okay.
Oh, STRESS! VOM!
Ahh, sitting down. Sitting down is good. Oh, there's the baby nephew! He sees the emesis bag! He likes to play "Pretend to vomit into the emesis bag"! Why don't we do that? OH NO REAL VOM TIME.
Ugh, dry throat. Cough-cough. RETCH!
Gotta pee. Get up. RETCH!
Someone's at the door! RETCH!"
It's basically a never-ending merry-go-round of being hungry, eating, feeling ill, waiting for the illness to pass, being hungry again, finding food that you can eat (It changes from day to day) and then hoping to God you don't throw it up afterwards after your stomach has a mood swing and decides it hates what you put inside of it after all.
The week started all right. Tired, a bit off, feeling gross. As the week progressed I got sicker and sicker. I'm now at the point where I may as well tell everyone I know that I'm pregnant. Because every time someone asks to hang out or do something socially, I have to explain, "Sorry, I'm actually pregnant. With some people with bodies that don't hate them this wouldn't be a problem but I was born in a meat-suit that likes to be a torture device in its downtime (see: endometriosis is the Devil's work and He's damned proud of it). I'd love to go see a movie/have a coffee/crochet and watch Doctor Who/have a generally awesome time with you, but I have to lie on the couch and try not to vomit today." And I really couldn't come up with an excuse not to hang out because I'm a terrible liar. I'd go to say that I'm not feeling well and accidentally imply that I have a deadly disease of some sort that requires urgent medical attention. I'm awkward like that.
Still, I am a lot luckier than my sister, H. She had constant vomiting her entire pregnancy and had to go into hospital multiple times. I was hoping to be a glowing goddess of a pregnant woman. My face is shining with increased oil production, I'm pale from all the wanting to vom, I'm in loose clothing because anything tight makes my ever-expanding endometriosis-freckled tendons, ligaments and not to mention scars and adhesions scream out in agony, and it being Spring in Australia, I'm already sweating like a pig. I don't look my best.
I am sick, and my boobs hurt, and I am constantly tired. It is one discovery after another in the indignities and discomfort pregnancy can bring you.
Yet, underneath it all, I am SO HAPPY. I was never this ill with my last pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. I never felt so round, so puffy, so changed. I didn't feel my body going, "THIS IS SERIOUS. We are MAKING A HUMAN." My hormones are stronger, my instincts are impossible to deny, my body is different in ways it never was in the first time around. I have blue veins spreading across my decolletage, making me look like some kind of weird porno version of Spider-Man when I'm naked.
It's friggin' glorious. I prayed to Jesus, which isn't an every day occurrence I must admit, although I do mutter to God all the time. This was a proper "hands together talk to Jesus out loud" kinda prayer. And I said:
"Thank you. I feel dreadful. Quite wretched. But I am so happy to put up with whatever is needed to make sure my little one comes to be healthy and whole. Thank you, so much. You have blessed me, for all my days and I will never stop being grateful for it."
So. I look to my days ahead and I realise - there is vomit in my future. And food I won't enjoy, despite it being good food. And smells that I never even noticed before. But as long as bub sticks around and my tummy gets bigger and bigger, I'm totally okay with that.
Bring it on.
If my stomach were capable of dialogue this week, it would be something like this:
"I'm HUNGRY! Eat something! NO, NOT THAT! Definitely NOT that! No meat, that's gross! No, no that, it's too dry! Ew, not that, it's too cheesy! Fruit? Are you nuts, it tastes all FRUITY!
White rice with a dribble of soy sauce? PERFECT! EAT! EAT EAT EAT EAT--STOP!
Oh LORDY STOP!!! No more food! I'm hungry as HELL but no more food!
Oh - a cold breeze! Gonna HURL! Oh no, I'm okay.
Oh, STRESS! VOM!
Ahh, sitting down. Sitting down is good. Oh, there's the baby nephew! He sees the emesis bag! He likes to play "Pretend to vomit into the emesis bag"! Why don't we do that? OH NO REAL VOM TIME.
Ugh, dry throat. Cough-cough. RETCH!
Gotta pee. Get up. RETCH!
Someone's at the door! RETCH!"
It's basically a never-ending merry-go-round of being hungry, eating, feeling ill, waiting for the illness to pass, being hungry again, finding food that you can eat (It changes from day to day) and then hoping to God you don't throw it up afterwards after your stomach has a mood swing and decides it hates what you put inside of it after all.
The week started all right. Tired, a bit off, feeling gross. As the week progressed I got sicker and sicker. I'm now at the point where I may as well tell everyone I know that I'm pregnant. Because every time someone asks to hang out or do something socially, I have to explain, "Sorry, I'm actually pregnant. With some people with bodies that don't hate them this wouldn't be a problem but I was born in a meat-suit that likes to be a torture device in its downtime (see: endometriosis is the Devil's work and He's damned proud of it). I'd love to go see a movie/have a coffee/crochet and watch Doctor Who/have a generally awesome time with you, but I have to lie on the couch and try not to vomit today." And I really couldn't come up with an excuse not to hang out because I'm a terrible liar. I'd go to say that I'm not feeling well and accidentally imply that I have a deadly disease of some sort that requires urgent medical attention. I'm awkward like that.
Still, I am a lot luckier than my sister, H. She had constant vomiting her entire pregnancy and had to go into hospital multiple times. I was hoping to be a glowing goddess of a pregnant woman. My face is shining with increased oil production, I'm pale from all the wanting to vom, I'm in loose clothing because anything tight makes my ever-expanding endometriosis-freckled tendons, ligaments and not to mention scars and adhesions scream out in agony, and it being Spring in Australia, I'm already sweating like a pig. I don't look my best.
I am sick, and my boobs hurt, and I am constantly tired. It is one discovery after another in the indignities and discomfort pregnancy can bring you.
Yet, underneath it all, I am SO HAPPY. I was never this ill with my last pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. I never felt so round, so puffy, so changed. I didn't feel my body going, "THIS IS SERIOUS. We are MAKING A HUMAN." My hormones are stronger, my instincts are impossible to deny, my body is different in ways it never was in the first time around. I have blue veins spreading across my decolletage, making me look like some kind of weird porno version of Spider-Man when I'm naked.
It's friggin' glorious. I prayed to Jesus, which isn't an every day occurrence I must admit, although I do mutter to God all the time. This was a proper "hands together talk to Jesus out loud" kinda prayer. And I said:
"Thank you. I feel dreadful. Quite wretched. But I am so happy to put up with whatever is needed to make sure my little one comes to be healthy and whole. Thank you, so much. You have blessed me, for all my days and I will never stop being grateful for it."
So. I look to my days ahead and I realise - there is vomit in my future. And food I won't enjoy, despite it being good food. And smells that I never even noticed before. But as long as bub sticks around and my tummy gets bigger and bigger, I'm totally okay with that.
Bring it on.
